


Don't think, just breathe

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Established Relationship, Flashbacks, Medical Trauma, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Sweaters, The Ten Rings (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:15:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23629081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Tony injures himself on a run and it triggers his PTSD.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	Don't think, just breathe

**Author's Note:**

> This is an established relationship but Steve does not appear in this fic! He is only mentioned. Also, I wrote this after being triggered myself today so the writing isn't very refined. Still, it was nice to have an outlet through another character to write about this.

The less he thought about it, the better. Tony's only priority in that moment was to get himself up, away, hidden from the world. After breathing deeply for quite some time, he grounded himself. Trees standing tall around him. Families chattering with glee. The crisp smelling air. The neutral taste in his mouth. The cold concrete beneath his knee. Pushing himself up on trembling limbs, Tony forced himself up off the ground and toward a bench by the fountain. Every step he took was agonizing pain. But he didn't want to think about that. The sooner he got back to the tower, the better.

When he gets back to the tower he gets in the shower. The warm water washes over him, massaging his sore muscles. Though his temperature was rising, he only felt cold and began to shiver. Shock was probably setting in. So he made quick work of lathering up his body with soap, rinsing it off, and getting into some warm clothes (Steve's sweater and a pair of shorts) when he was done. He wrapped his calf in a bandage and swallowed down the nausea at the feeling of it throbbing in his hand. Almost as if blood was pouring from the wound… Sharply, he shook his head.

_Don't think about it. You don't want to relive it. You don't want that pain again._

So he busied himself in the workshop, working hard and recklessly although JARVIS pleaded with him to get some rest. He kept going on about icing and elevating his calf. But Tony didn't want to hear it. The new iron man was all that he allowed to occupy his mind. At some point, he let his tired eyes droop and he nuzzled the palm of his hand, inhaling Steve's scent through his sweater. 

Steve went on runs regularly. Every day. Tony understood why now, why the sport could get so addicting sometimes. The rush of adrenaline, the feeling of crisp air flooding his lungs… It made Tony feel so alive. But at the same time, like prey. Sometimes it feels like he's running from something. Someone.

Tony came back to himself on the floor an hour later, a fistful of hair clutched in his fists. His breathing was sharp and his ears were ringing. Speckles of black obscured his vision. He grounded himself. The smell of oil. The taste of the coffee he had consumed. The hard metal bench digging into his spine. The excruciating pain in his calf. The sound of his breathing. His hands clenching and unclenching. Breathing deeply for a couple minutes. He pushed himself up gingerly and shut the lab down before limping upstairs to the bathroom in his bedroom. He managed to get some pain killers and leaned down to sip some water from the sink. When he leaned back up, he caught his reflection in the mirror and flinched. Cold dead eyes stared back at him, cheeks streaked with tears, and skin a sallow grey. He was gut-punched by a memory.

_He was covered in soot and dirt and every inhale felt like glass scraping against his throat. All he could do was revel and scream as the agonizing pain welled up in his leg. Blood flowed over the wound and his hands couldn't stanch it. This was it. This was how he'd die, trapped in a Afghan cave with no way to escape. These men were going to broadcast his death and terrorize more people, take the bullet they shot him with and display it proudly for all to see. And he was helpless against it. But he didn't want to die there. He needed to survive._

_Mindlessly, he dug his nails into the ground and tried to crawl away from his captors. All his senses were blurring together, melding with one another, and his vision was turning grey. He wish he could run. God, he wished he could run._

But he wasn't there anymore. He had the tower and his lab and Steve. His captors were dead. Tony hurt them just as much as they hurt him. Or maybe not, since he was the only one living with the trauma. Tony admitted it. He was a little envious of their death sometimes.

Tony got himself to the bed eventually, feeling numb and tired. His calf only hurt a little but that was better compared to the agony he experienced before. To think that this happened today during one of the most peaceful activities of his day...it made him angry, but he wouldn't let this stop him from getting stronger. A pulled muscle dug up a lot of the painful memories he had thought he buried before, but they wouldn't hold him back. He was Tony fucking Stark. And he would live to see another day.


End file.
